Bittersweet Remedy
by Francesca Monterone
Summary: When you're in love with your doctor, recovery isn't really at the top of your priority list...
1. Numb

**Title:** Bittersweet Remedy  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Star Trek 2009  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance / Hurt/Comfort  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Christopher Pike & Leonard McCoy  
><strong>Rating: <strong>K+  
><strong>Summary:<strong>  
><em>When you're in love with your doctor, recovery isn't really at the top of your priority list... Prequel to "Distant Closeness" and "Family Matters" that can be read separately.<em>

* * *

><p><em>- "Die kleinen Sünden bestraft der liebe Gott sofort, mit den großen lässt er sich Zeit."<em>

_- German proverb 1 -_

* * *

><p>"What are you doing here?" His voice sounded rough, and the question odd, even to his own ears. That wasn't the kind of thing you asked the man who had come to rescue you. Especially not in that gruff, clipped tone. It wasn't the thing a Captain was supposed to say to an officer who had just risked his life to save him… and everything – everyone – else.<p>

If Kirk thought so, too, he kept it to himself, though. He could have sworn that for a moment, he even saw that telltale cocky grin on his battered face, the briefest flash of teeth, before the boy replied: "Just following orders. Enterprise go!"

_Orders? _Chris wondered briefly, before they were caught in the transporter beam. _Certainly not my orders. I don't order people to pull such stupidly reckless stunts._

The scenery changed from the horrible dripping bowels of the Romulan ship to the clean, shiny, sterile, albeit startlingly familiar environment of the Enterprise's main transporter room. He started to feel relieved, but wouldn't allow himself to fully admit yet that yes, he was back on his ship, and maybe even safely so.

"Nice timing, Scotty," Kirk said, and Pike looked at the chuckling man at the transporter control panel. _That is not my chief transportation officer. Who the hell is this guy?_

"Ha ha ha ha! I've never beamed three people from two targets onto one pad before." Well, whoever it was, he seemed pretty happy right now. Bully for him.

A blue spot was moving towards them with all the force and velocity of a tornado, more throwing himself at them than running, really. Medical staff, his brain supplied. It made sense. Kirk at least looked as if he was in dire need of medical attention.

_Why McCoy, though? Shouldn't it be Puri?_

"Jim!" The doctor shouted, and the audible relief in his voice was as surprising as touching. Somebody here was really glad to have his rascally friend back.

_Oh, yeah – we'll have words about that, McCoy. Sneaking the kid aboard was a serious breach of regulations, even though I'm grateful you decided to do it… I'll be damned if I admit that, though._

"Bones!"

_Huh? Who'd that be…? Oh…_

He had not finished the thought, before Kirk heaved him off the transporter pad. McCoy rushed in to help them. Chris let them handle him with a sort of bemused detachedness. His body felt strangely numb, as if he had lost all control over his limbs. As Kirk lowered him, he all but collapsed into McCoy's arms.

"I've got him." Strong arms gripped him. Gentle but firm as only a doctor could, McCoy brought him to a waiting stretcher.

"I don't need this," Chris protested weakly, knowing full well that he wasn't really in the position to discuss with McCoy. But he wasn't really in that bad shape, was he? He just felt a bit odd. A moment of rest, a hypo and he'd be fine…

McCoy ignored him, and firmly pressed him down onto the stretcher, and that was answer enough.

Chris sighed and resigned himself to a round of embarrassing tests and treatments in sickbay. Doctors. What could you expect, really?

He remembered having seen Spock in the transporter room and that calmed him. The Vulcan was reliable. He'd take care of everything.  
>It was the last thing on his mind before he slipped into unconsciousness.<p>

* * *

><p>Pain and light.<p>

A pain, as searing as a swarm of white-hot razor blades shooting down his spinal cord from the neck to the waist and spreading from there through every part of his torso. A scream wanted to force its way out, but he fought it, and all that escaped his lips was a low whimper. The light was cold, merciless and terribly bright. It burned in his eyes like frost.

"Captain? Can you hear me?"

_How could I not, when you're standing next to me and shouting right into my ear?_ he wanted to reply, but the pain forced him to hold his breath. Tears welled up behind his half-closed lids.

"Are you in pain?"

"Yes!" It was a long-drawn hiss more than anything else. _Yes, I'm in pain, you idiot, and you're a doctor, so do something about it!_

"Good," McCoy stated, and Chris was starting to have a strong suspicion that his doctor was actually a dangerous madman.

_Good? I tell you that I'm in pain, and you say "good"?_

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere…" _Goddamn you, McCoy!_

"Legs, too?"

Well, no… actually not. Funny, but that was about the only part of his body that didn't feel as if somebody was driving acid dripping metal spikes through it.

"No."

"Oh."

_Seriously, kid, I am going to slap you. As soon as I figure out how to get up and raise my arm._

"Do. Something." Chris growled between clenched teeth.

"I'm working on it, Captain." McCoy's voice sounded strained.

_Well, work faster then…!_

The hiss of a hypo pressed to his neck. "There, that should help."

Chris felt a soft tingle and a sensation of coolness spread through his body, but the pain, even though slightly dulled, didn't go away.

"Wrong… hypo." He rasped.

"No, actually not." McCoy sounded puzzled. "That was a strong analgesic. You should be feeling better."

_Well, duh. I'm not._

He shook his head; as good as he could manage, lying flat on the biobed.

"Nurse!" McCoy bellowed, and Chris heard a rush of movement as somebody ran to do the doctor's bidding. Another hypo was pressed to his neck, another tingling sensation.

The pain did not ease.

"Still no change?" McCoy asked after about five minutes.

"No."

_Damn you. Do something! Knock me out or put me under, I don't care, but MAKE IT STOP!_

"I've given you an amount of painkillers that is bordering on dangerous," McCoy informed him, sounding almost frantic. "What did they do to you? Did they give you something? Make you eat or drink anything?"

_Shouldn't that have been your first question? They weren't exactly hospitable, you know. I'm pretty sure they didn't force me to drink or eat anything… apart from horrible squirming parasites, that is…_

"The… thing. In my mouth…"

"There's something in your mouth?" McCoy asked alarmed and bent over to examine him.

"No! Not mouth… brain…"

"_Centaurian slugs. They latch unto your brainstem, and release a toxin that will force you to answer…"_

"Slug… there's a slug…"

"There's a slug in your brain?" McCoy sounded incredulous. "Fidley, get over here with the hyllenin already, he's hallucinating!"

Okay now, that was enough.

"I am not hallucinating!" Chris all but screamed, then gasped for air.

"Sch, calm down," McCoy put both his hands on his chest to keep him down. "Full scan," he said to the nurse standing next to him. "Check for an alien life form… anything, no matter how small."

Chris heard the soft whirr of some sort of medical diagnostic device, then a startled shout from the nurse. "Doctor McCoy…! Look!"

McCoy swore loudly and colorfully. "Goddamn those Romulans…!" was about the only part of the tirade Chris caught, but he fully agreed with that one.

"What _is_ that?" The nurse asked timidly.

"I have no idea, but I'm going to kill it. We can take a look at it once it's dead."

_That's the first sensible thing you've said…_

* * *

><p>He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the twilit room. The light was gone, and so was the pain. Even the many sounds of a busy sickbay seemed to have been swallowed up by a nightly silence. His lips were dry and there was a very, very bad taste in his mouth. He longed for a glass of water.<p>

He tried to move, to sit up, but his limbs refused to obey him. His arm twitched, he feebly managed to raise a hand and flex his fingers, but that was about all. Exhaustion, he assumed. After all, they had pumped him full with painkillers and narcotics. There were bound to be some nasty aftereffects of that.

A shadow fell across his face and he looked up to see McCoy. Apparently, the doctor had been sitting somewhere nearby, waiting for him to stir. "Captain, how do you feel?" he asked quietly.

_I have been better. A lot better, actually._

"'M okay."

McCoy snorted. "No, you certainly aren't. But it's good to see you awake and breathing."

_Geez, McCoy, you really know how to make a patient feel better, don't you?_

"Slug…?"

"Gone." McCoy frowned. "I put it in a specimen jar for Spock to examine, but Chekov beat him to it. That kid just can't sit still. I sent him down to engineering to help Mr. Scott and get him out of Jim's hair."

The idea of Chekov, youthful, over-excited Chekov with a grin wider than the sky was strangely comforting. Despite the events on the _Narada_ and the horrible losses Starfleet had suffered – not to mention the loss of Vulcan – most of his people had made it out of this unscathed. His crew was safe. Chekov, Sulu, Spock, Nyota Uhura, and that foolishly reckless idiot Jim Kirk… the kids, his kids, where safe.

"Need to… speak with… Spock," he rasped, squeezing the words out of his chest with tremendous effort.

McCoy shook his head emphatically. "I am sorry, Captain, but not right now. You're barely able to speak. Spock has just lost his planet and watched his mother die. Neither of you is fit to make any decisions and all you should focus on is getting through this in one piece. I'm afraid you'll have to rely on us others to get you back home."

"Who… in command?" If Spock wasn't fit for duty that would leave… _fuck!_ He felt unsure whether to laugh at the irony of it or be terrified at the possible implications. _Jim Kirk is in command of the Enterprise. We're so screwed…_

McCoy seemed to share his misgivings. "I am afraid telling you that would not be beneficial to your blood pressure."

"Jim."

"Oh, so you already know? Yeah, I'm afraid it's true. Terrifying, isn't it?"

"It's… a leap of… faith."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "I'm glad being taken hostage by a raving lunatic and having an alien parasite inserted into your body has done nothing to diminish your optimism."

* * *

><p><em>Hello everyone! I'm back with the promised prequel to "Distant Closeness". This story will focus on the slow-building relationship between Leonard McCoy and Christopher Pike. The latter will probably be sick, in pain andor unhappy for the most part of the story, but since most of you already know that there'll be a happy end eventually, I hope it doesn't bother you too much._

_1: Literally: God will punish you immediately if you commit a small sin, but if you commit a big one, he'll take his time (probably to devise a more elaborate punishment…^^) I have no idea where this proverb originated. I suppose, it might stem from a bible quote or some other religious text. There are several versions of it and it is used by believers and non-believers alike. My Mom, being a great fan of proverbs, used to say it quite frequently when something went wrong._


	2. Poisoned

_McCoy__: "We're doing everything that's possible!"  
><em>_Kirk__: "Bones, I want the impossible checked out too!"_

_TOS, The Naked Time_

* * *

><p>Jim made his appearance in sickbay roughly five hours later, still looking battered and bruised, but at least somewhat less tired. Maybe the brat had listened to him for once, but Leonard doubted it… it was more likely that exhaustion had gotten the better of him.<p>

Quietly, Jim stepped to Pike's bedside, looking down at the sleeping man's face. "He doesn't look good," he stated.

Leonard snorted. "What did you expect? That Nero would sit down and have a cup of tea with him whilst discussing a diplomatic solution?" he asked acidly.

"I shouldn't have let him walk into that trap," Jim replied, shaking his head ruefully. His gaze was still fixed on Pike, and Leonard didn't need to ask what he was feeling. If Jim had ever had some sort of father figure, it wasn't the hero he had never met, but Pike. He had found Jim in that godforsaken bar in Iowa, had been able to look past the labels – runaway, teenage misfit, rowdy – and see Jim's potential. Grasping opportunities was Pike's specialty… and he also appeared to have a real talent when it came to handling difficult kids: Jim, who challenged authority wherever he could, respected him. And right now, he was feeling guilty, because he had gotten away, while his Captain lay on a biobed. Leonard couldn't really help him there, but he felt obliged to point out that it wasn't really Jim's fault.

"I wasn't your choice to make. Pike may have promoted you and Spock, but he's still the Captain, no matter what he told you. And he knew pretty well what he was walking into. That he chose to do it anyway was…"

"… brave." Jim looked up as he finished the sentence, his blue eyes daring Leonard to contradict him.

"I was about to say _pretty idiotic._" It was true, so why did he feel as if he had just told a lie…? Leonard wasn't a big fan of heroism, especially not when it led to casualties. Still… maybe he was a little impressed with Pike's actions. Just a little bit… he'd rather bite his tongue off than admit to that, though.

"He did it to save his ship and his crew." Jim's cheeks were reddening; his eyes alight with a fatal fire that McCoy knew all too well.

"Are you aspiring to become a martyr, Jim? Trying to continue the family tradition? In that case, do make sure to find a suitable girl first, or at least become a sperm donor, it would be such a shame if your genetic line came to an end…"

Jim frowned at him. "Mind telling me why you're so bitter all of a sudden?"

"Um, let's see… several billion people died yesterday…? You'd think that was reason enough. Some of them also happened to be my friends."

"I know that, Bones. But now isn't the time to grief for them. Not before we've gotten the survivors safely back to Earth. Our duty is to the living rather than the dead, don't you think? Now, what about Pike?"

"What about him?"

"How is he?"

"Dying," Leonard replied laconically.

"What? But Ensign Hernandez told me that he woke up earlier and you talked… he can't be that bad, can he? And you removed that thing from his head…"

"Yeah, well, turns out _'that thing'_ was poisonous. It released a toxin into his bloodstream. A toxin that's slowly, but steadily killing him. First, parts of his body will become paralyzed, then he'll be unable to move altogether, and in the end, he'll likely suffocate. It's little more than a matter of time."

"And there's nothing you…?"

"If there was something, _anything_ I could do, so you really think I'd be sitting here talking to you?" Leonard all but shouted at Jim. Godammit, he hated that feeling of helplessness…!

Jim's shoulders slumped and he turned to look back at Pike. "I get it," he said quietly, "this isn't about Vulcan. It's about Pike."

Leonard made no attempt to deny it. Where would have been the point…? So he cared more about a man he knew, liked and respected than several billion strangers? Big deal. _That's humanity for you…_, he thought bitterly.

"He's my fucking Captain, Jim, and I'm watching him die. This isn't what I signed up for. I joined Starfleet because I wanted to heal and to save people… because _he_ told me I should be out here, saving people, but not to watch them die with my hands tied behind my back."

"Is there anything I could do…?"

"Pray, in case you believe in some sort of greater being. If such a being exists, it knows I've done everything else."

"Have you asked the Vulcan survivors? There are two doctors among them, according to Sarek… he told me that they had offered their help."

Leonard shook his head. "That's generous, but I already checked their datatbase and it held preciously little information on the slug."

"Ask them anyway. I can't hurt, can it?" Jim looked up, and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes that Leonard secretly admired. _Kid, your optimism never ceases to amaze me…_

* * *

><p>Two matching pairs of dark eyes were studying him, their gaze cold with a scientific curiosity that was interested only in the puzzle he had presented them with. There was something to say for the Vulcan obsession for purging all emotion, at least in times like this. They had just lost their home, their people, their entire way of life, but you would have thought nothing had happened from the way they were acting.<p>

Leonard silently congratulated his two colleagues, wishing for a bit of that inhuman serenity. He felt as if everything he knew, everything he had trusted in had been pulled out from under his feet.

"Centaurian Slugs are indigenous to two of the planets that were colonized by Vulcans," Dr. Seeran informed him. He was the younger of the two, a highly trained specialist whose main focus was the treatment of infectious diseases. Had Pike suffered from and hitherto unknown alien virus, Seeran would have been the best person to ask. Unfortunately, though, neither Seeran nor his older colleague Vallin were experts in toxicology.

"There are various sub-species, but the differences between them are very subtle. All of them are poisonous," Seeran continued.

"That is… er… fascinating, but what exactly do you do when someone is affected by the poison? Is there some form of antivenom?"

Seeran considered this for a minute. "Not to my knowledge," he finally said. He looked at Vallin. "No," she confirmed.

_Figures_, Leonard thought bitterly. _Because really, that would have been too easy…_

"Usually, the Centaurian slugs bite when irritated," Vallin explained. "They release an amount of toxin that is inferior to the one Captain Pike was exposed to. For a Vulcan adult, those bites are rarely fatal. There are several recorded cases when small children died from the bite, but most of those were bitten after putting one of the slugs into their mouth."

"So you only die when you attempt to or are forced to eat them. Great," Leonard groaned.

"Not necessarily," Seeran cut in. "It depends on the amount of toxin released and the overall physical constitution of the victim. The Slug releases a neurotoxin. One of the side-effects is a temporary loss of inhibitions and heightened susceptibility to manipulation. Another one is almost unbearable pain. Those two combined make the use of Centaurian slugs during interrogations a very effective form of extracting information from an unwilling victim."

"In short, Nero used it as a form of torture," Leonard said, feelings of revulsion and horror rising in his chest.

"That is very likely," Seeran agreed.

"Is there a chance – any chance at all – that he'll survive this?"

The two Vulcans exchanged a glance.

"It is… not impossible," Vallin stated and Leonard briefly thought he caught a flicker of kindness in her steady gaze. "The human physique vastly defers from the Vulcan one, especially when it comes to the brain. The fact that your brain structure and functions are much simpler than ours might turn out to be an advantage in this case. It will most likely depend on the state of his heart and lungs. The toxin affects neural functions, but it is a chemical compound that will dissolve after a certain amount of time."

"It all comes down to this," Seeran said, "if you can keep his heart beating and his lungs working at a necessary minimum, and if his body is strong enough to recuperate after the toxin has dissolved, he could survive."

"I will encourage him to keep breathing," Leonard replied drily.

Seeran nodded.

"It is likely that there will be unwholesome aftereffects and lasting damage to some of his neural pathways and inner organs, even if he survives," Vallin admonished.

"For the moment, I think that's the lesser concern," Leonard replied. "A liver or a kidney can be replaced and paralysis be dealt with, but at least he would still be alive. Thank you."

He meant it. Maybe they had not been able to tell him how to fix this mess, but at least they had given him something to hope for. It was better than nothing.

Again, Seeran nodded.

"Good luck, Dr. McCoy," Vallin added quietly.

Leonard raised his brows. "Isn't that a very illogical thing to say?"

"Maybe so, but can it hurt?" She replied. "I was merely trying to be kind. You seem very… concerned about the fate of your patient."

"I certainly am. Well… thank you again."

_I never thought I'd hear a Vulcan wish me luck… but then, who knows, maybe it'll help…?_

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for the lovely reviews, folks. I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter and I hope you like this one as well.<br>_


	3. Recovering

_« Tout cela ne vaut pas le poison qui découle de tes yeux » _

_Charles Baudelaire, «Le Poison » *  
><em>

* * *

><p>Waking up only to look into a pair of blue eyes was certainly not the worst way to start your day, Chris mused. In fact, when the pair of eyes in question belonged to the man who had quite possibly just saved your life and was about to tell you that you weren't going to die a slow and rather painful way, it was an excellent start.<p>

And while he couldn't exactly say that he felt _good_, feeling less bad was certainly an improvement.

_All hail the doctor_, Chris thought, watching McCoy, who was bustling around, instructing his staff, checking various readings, and examining his patient.

Said patient was a bit put out by the fact that he still couldn't sit up of his own volition and that McCoy wouldn't even let him try, but he tried not to let it ruin the mood. After all, it wasn't every day that you came back from the dead, was it?

"For a few hours, I was positive that you wouldn't make it," McCoy told him bluntly, while comparing the results he had received from his scanner to a chart on his PADD, "and it kind of bugged me that I should have been the last person you talked to."

"Oh?" Chris asked drily. "Why's that?"

"Well, it should have been someone from your family, no? Or at the very least Jim."

"I find it slightly disturbing that you think the last person I should talk to before dying is Jim Kirk," Chris informed him.

"Come off it, Captain" McCoy replied, amusement clearly audible, "everybody knows that you like that obnoxious brat, even though he really is a pain in the ass sometimes. He was one of your favorite students."

There was a certain truth to that statement, Chris supposed. Still… "Just for your information: I definitely don't want him to be the last person I speak to before I die. So the next time it looks like I'm about to kick the bucket, please make sure there's somebody else to see me off."

"Assuming that I'll be around, I'll do that. Whom would you like to sit at your bedside?"

Chris honestly considered this for a moment. "Not my sister, she tends to get hysterical… maybe my brother-in-law? We get along quite well – that's a really weird discussion, you realize that? I almost died, and what are we talking about? Dying."

"Let's change the topic then – try to move your left arm."

Chris complied.

"Great, now the right – okay – fingers please… good. Now the left foot. Did you catch that? Left foot."

"I'm trying," Chris replied. McCoy was staring at his legs frowning.

"Right one…?" He suggested hesitatingly. "Bend your knee?"

Nothing.

"Oh great," Chris groaned. "Please tell me that I'm just imagining this… Why can't I move my legs?"

"Well, side-effects were to be expected," McCoy murmured.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Chris snapped.

"Calm down. It's probably a temporary thing."

"_Probably_?" That wasn't exactly the answer he had wanted to hear.

"What the doctor means," a rather familiar voice stated calmly, "is that at the time being, he does not have sufficient data to determine the outcome. He was therefore making an educated guess."

"Spock, what the hell are you doing in my sickbay?" McCoy said irritably, just as the Vulcan stepped into Chris' sight.

"I believe that should be quite obvious, doctor. I am here to see the Captain."

"Right, since you'd never come to see me."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "I apologize, doctor, I was not aware that you wished to be visited by me."

McCoy groaned and rolled his eyes. "I was being sarcastic, Spock. _Sar-cas-tic_. Ever heard of it?"

Despite his condition, worries about permanent paralysis and the beginnings of a headache, Chris couldn't help but grin. Watching Kirk and Spock bicker was fun enough, but McCoy and Spock took slapstick to a whole new level.

Spock apparently decided that talking to McCoy was pointless and turned to face Chris. "Captain. It is good to see you…"

"… alive?" Chris asked.

"I was going to say _'awake'_." Spock studied him in that cool, scientific way that always gave Chris the creeps, even though he'd never willingly admit that. In turn, he looked at the Vulcan, noticing half-healed bruises and a certain haggardness in that ageless face. Despite his calm demeanor, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Spock had been hurt, hurt badly enough that he, too, should have been in sickbay, only in a sickbay where the doctors were trained psychiatrists and the painkillers sleeping pills…

"How's the ship? And the crew?"

"Uh-oh, no ship's business, or he's leaving this instant," McCoy cut in.

Chris fixed him with a glare. "I'm still the Captain."

"Actually, you aren't," McCoy corrected him, "Jim is."

"There's a question for you, Spock… how did that boy end up in command of my ship?"

Was it his imagination, or had he just seen Spock cringe a little at the question…?

"That is, as you would say on Earth, a long story," he replied evasively.

"Take a seat then. I for one am not going anywhere in the near future, so I have all the time to listen to your story. That is, if Dr. McCoy will allow it." He looked at McCoy, daring him to refuse.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I'm not responsible if you overexert yourself."

"Stop being such a mother-hen," Chris chided.

McCoy fixed him with a look made up of three parts annoyance and one part incredulity. "Must I spell it out for you? You. Almost. Died."

He didn't actually add the '_you idiot'_, but Chris heard it anyway. "Don't you have other patients to fuss about?"

McCoy stalked off, mumbling under his breath. Chris turned his attention back to Spock, who was still standing next to his bed rather stiffly.

"I believe you just hurt his feelings," the Vulcan said quietly.

Chris snorted. "Don't worry about McCoy. He's always bitching about something or other. I'd be concerned if he wasn't."

"He spent two days and nights at your bedside," Spock replied in that same quiet tone of voice.

Um… well, what did you reply to that? Chris was a little surprised, even though he probably shouldn't have been, and he felt strangely… touched. He knew that McCoy took his job seriously, but knowing that someone lost sleep over you gave you a nice little warm feeling of your own importance.

Still, he felt slightly uncomfortable discussing McCoy's feelings and motives with Spock, so he made the Vulcan sit down and tell him about everything he had missed… in detail.

* * *

><p>"Christopher! You're alive!" An instant later, Chris found himself attacked and tackled by an exuberant blond whirlwind. He glared at Jim. "I wasn't aware that I gave you permission to use my first name," he said sternly, but Jim looked rather unconcerned.<p>

He waved a vague hand. "Yeah, but calling you _Captain_ while I'm technically the Captain would be a bit weird. Besides, it wouldn't properly express my feelings."

"Of course," Chris muttered ironically, "and we can't have that, can we? Seriously, kid, you have no respect for authority."

"And it took you three years and a crazy Romulan to figure that out?" Jim was grinning from ear to ear now.

McCoy appeared behind him, scowling. "Quit causing such a ruckus in my sickbay, will ya?"

"I missed you, too, Bones."

"I rather doubt that, but I'm pretty sure everybody else is by now cursing me to the deepest pits of hell for getting you aboard the ship in the first place."

"Nah, they love me."

"… that why Spock tried to kill you twice in 24 hours…?"

"Woah, slow down, I missed that one," Chris cut in. He had been following their conversation with growing amusement, but that piece of news… well… "Spock tried to kill you?"

"Yep. First time, he was upset because I was telling him a truth he didn't want to hear, so he marooned me on an Ice planet filled with giant ravenous monsters. I got away , though… he actually helped with that… well, his other self did – it's a bit confusing. Anyway, the second time I provoked him so badly he tried to strangle me on the bridge. If it hadn't been for Sarek, I'd probably be dead. Sarek told Spock to stop and he did. I think he actually feels bad about choking me. That's how I got to be Acting Captain, though."

"Somehow, this story sounds a bit different than the one Spock told me…" Chris murmured.

Jim shrugged. "Well, can you blame him? It's a bit embarrassing. I don't hold a grudge, though. He was all upset about his planet and his mother, and the second time I pushed him deliberately…"

"… and whatever possessed you to provoke a Vulcan to the point of bloodlust? Do you have a death wish?"

"No, but it was necessary. Spock was being thickheaded and I really needed to turn around the ship and save you and the rest of the world, so I figured that the risk was probably worth it…"

Chris shook his head in disbelief. "I'm starting to feel glad that I was on that Romulan ship with the madman while all this happened, and I can tell you that's _not_ a good sign."

Jim just grinned at him.

"It's useless," Chris complained to McCoy.

"Yeah, it is. Better get used to it."

"I sort of am. After all, I'm the one who was tutoring this reckless fool through the Academy – the hours I had to spend, pleading with the Cadet Master not to kick him out… you owe me a fortune in Belgian chocolates, Jim, it's the only way to bribe her…"

"You know, I was wondering about that. I actually suspected you of sleeping with her for a while, because she was so uncommonly nice towards you, while she was acting like a fire-breathing dragon towards everybody else… but then of course, you wouldn't. After all, you are…"

Chris fixed him with a glare that told him in no uncertain terms that he'd be facing an extremely painful death if he finished that sentence. Jim shut up instantly.

"No, I _wouldn't_." Chris said firmly.

"I knew it!" McCoy exclaimed.

_You knew WHAT exactly…? I hope you aren't talking about what I'm afraid you're talking about, because I actually never intended for you to find out… _

"Huh?" Jim asked, looking puzzled.

"I knew that someone other than me kept saving your ass! There was no way you could have gotten away with the stuff you did without friends in high places." He turned to Chris. "You know that's favoritism, don't you?"

"I prefer to call it "securing valuable assets to Starfleet"", Chris replied mildly, feeling relieved, but also vaguely disappointed. _Come on_, he told himself_, you didn't want McCoy to know, did you? So what's with the regret? Of course, it's not as if him knowing would change anything..._

Because really, it wouldn't. He rather liked McCoy, and he had come to regard the young doctor as an open-minded, tolerant person, despite his gruff demeanor. But then, anybody who was friends with Jim necessarily had to be…  
>In any case, he didn't really believe that McCoy would react other than with polite indifference to the news that his Captain-turned-patient was actually homosexual. He'd probably nod, file the information away for further reference, and look at him with an expression reading <em>and that concerns me… how?<em>

Hell, even _Jim, _loud-mouthed, obnoxious Jim had reacted well.

Chris sighed inwardly. There was no use worrying about it, and at his age, he should have been confident enough not to care anymore. That he still did was… telling. He supposed that he still wasn't over his father's and Balder's reactions… it was sad, and bitterly ironic. Thore had been dead for twenty years, and his memories were still being clouded by their warnings and accusations.

_Let the dead rest…_

To be fair, only Thore and his father were dead. Balder was still very much alive, but they had long since made their peace…

* * *

><p>* "<em>All that is nothing to the poison flow<br>Out of your eyes"_

_Thank you for taking the time to review this. I love to read what you think about the story! For those of you who haven't read "Distant Closeness" and/or "Family Matters" - don't worry, I'll explain who Thore and Balder are and how they are connected to Chris soon enough. I've been itching to tell that story for quite a while, actually.  
><em>


	4. Respite

_- "In sooth, I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you." –_

_William Shakespeare, "The Merchant of Venice"_

* * *

><p>Waking up in sickbay had felt strange the first two times, but it quickly became a familiar habit. They were literally crawling back to Earth, since somebody had ordered their chief engineer to eject their warp core (Chris had been ready to rip off Jim's pretty head for damaging his brand new ship, but he couldn't argue that the decision had saved all of their lives, so it seemed somewhat inappropriate) and their impulse engines had taken a few nasty blows. Scotty and his team were working double shifts, but they were only human, after all.<p>

Spock had inquired of Starfleet whether they were able and willing to send another vessel with an additional engineering crew, but it turned out, that Starfleet did have neither ships nor personnel to spare.  
>"They are licking their own wounds," Jim explained, looking uncommonly grave. "Five ships and most of the current cadet class, in addition to instructors, officers and other personnel...? That's a harsh blow."<p>

Chris nodded in agreement.

"The compromise we found is that Enterprise will head towards Jupiter Station for repairs. It's the only station that isn't too far off our present course and capable of undertaking the repairs we need."

"I'm all for it. And I can guarantee you that they'll get the repairs done in the shortest possibly span of time." He smiled.

Jim raised his brows. "Oh? Why's that?"

"My little sister is one of their top engineers," Chris replied merrily.

"Your sister is in Starfleet?"

"Yes."  
>"Awesome! What's her name? And do I know her?"<p>

"Laurel Rassmussen, and no, you don't. And Jim - don't get your hopes up. She's married with three kids."

"So...?" Jim grinned broadly.

Chris rolled his eyes.

"Aw, come on, I was only making fun of you. Laughing is good for your health, right?"

"You'd have to ask Dr. McCoy about that. I could probably repair an engine or translate something into Klingon, if forced to, but anything medical is way out of my league."

"Most Captains serve as Science or Tactical officers or pilots before they end up in command, right? So what'd you do?"

Chris eyed him quizzically. "Don't you have someplace else to be? If I remember correctly, you've got a ship to command, so how come you're bored enough to listen to stories about my past?"

"Maybe I simply enjoy talking to you...?"

"After all the lectures I gave you and that you never listened to, I find that a bit hard to believe."

"That wasn't talking, that was telling me off," Jim pointed out. "And you always said the same sort of stuff anyways, so it grew exceedingly boring after the second or third. So... what did you do, before you became a captain?"

"I served as first officer, obviously. Frequently doubling as tactical officer, because the actual tactical officer had an inexplicable knack for getting herself shot at, stabbed, buried beneath collapsing structures or otherwise hurt. Our Captain once asked her if she was trying to get herself killed on purpose. And before that, I was a pilot."

"But you did command a ship before Enterprise?"

"Yes. Two, actually, if you're talking about this Enterprise. But you could read that up in Starfleet's archives."

"Yes, but its way more interesting to hear it from somebody who was actually there. Don't you sometimes miss your old crew? I haven't been around them that long, but I think I'd already miss this ship's crew... well, Bones, of course. And Sulu and Chekov. Scotty. Uhura. Probably even Spock. Hell, I guess I'd even miss Giotto, and I don't even like him..."

Pike smiled. "They grow on you, don't they? And you come to depend on them. Then, when they're suddenly gone, it feels as if you've lost some of your limbs. Yes, sometimes I miss them. Especially my CMO and first officer. But Spock is still around."

"Where are they now? Your crew, I mean?"

"Philip Boyce, my CMO, retired from Starfleet. He's moved back to his hometown and teaches the occasional class at the university."

"And your first?"

Chris was quiet for a moment. He had tried to focus on Boyce, because thinking about_ her_ just hurt too much. He swallowed hard. "She... she was in command of the Ferragut."

"Oh." Jim nodded in understanding, his smile replaced by a sadness that should never been seen in so young a face. But then, Jim would know all about personal losses… "I'm sorry."

Chris shook his head. "That doesn't bring her back. Nothing will. I wish you could have met her, Jim. She was one of our brightest and best. She… she had a beautiful mind. I won't pretend I ever fully understood her, but I know that I am going to miss her… she should never have been on the ship. She was waiting for her next assignment, she was supposed to relief Captain Halvorsen once he returned from the Laurentian system… I suppose he'll be back in time, but she won't be there…"

He watched with a sort of detached astonishment as Jim got up and started to walk around the room in an agitated manner. He looked ready to pick something up and hurl it against a wall for the mere satisfaction of finding an outlet for his helpless fury. "Aww… fuck. I can't believe that one man, one single man, managed to do all this… he killed _billions_ of people. He nearly extinguished a species. He killed most of Starfleet's senior cadet class…! The suffering he already caused, and we haven't even been able to notify all of the families yet… I'd swear, I'd fucking kill that _bastard_ if he weren't already dead!"

He was nearly shouting by now.

"Jim," Chris said soothingly, "Jim. Calm down. It's no use."

"Don't tell me you're not angry! He _tortured_ you, for God's sake! He held you hostage. He may be the reason you'll never walk again!"

Chris winced. „Jim… I do think a certain frankness is an encouragible trait for a young officer, but do you have to be _that_ blunt?"

Jim calmed down a little, casting him a slightly sheepish look, but then he shrugged. "What…? You didn't train me to become a diplomat, did you? If you want somebody to sweet talk you, let me call Bones…"

"McCoy? Oh, you've got to be kidding me! He has the worst bedside manner I've ever seen in a doctor. He must have skipped the lectures on building good patient-doctor relations while he was in medical school."

Jim shook his head. "No, I'm serious. He is really good at comforting people. I suppose you just haven't been sick enough to make him go into comforting mode yet."

"Excuse me? I almost died."

"Okay, maybe _not sick enough_ isn't the right term… you see, for Bones there's three types of patients: Category one, uncomplicated people with minor or easily treatable injuries, who don't cause any trouble and do what he tells them, because they want to get out of sickbay as fast as possible. He sees them, treats them and forgets them. Category two are the people who are either gravely ill or even fatally injured, or really unhappy for some other reason. They are willing to accept his kindness, bask in the attention they get or are simply glad that somebody cares. He's an angel towards them, and he'll never forget their faces… Then there's category three. Those are the ones that make him go furious with frustration, because they either suffer from something he can't treat or refuse treatment, insist that they're fine and kick up a fuss in sickbay. They refuse to let him turn them into category one or two patients and are generally obnoxious. " Jim paused for a moment before adding: "Both of us are patients of the third category. Hence the bitching."

"Well… that explains a lot."

"Don't worry, though – he's only gruff to people he actually likes. Everybody else just gets the cold shoulder. He likes you, me and for some unfathomable reason, he even likes Spock. What I'm saying is; Bones is one of the good guys."

"I know that," Chris replied. "What's with the name?" he added in an afterthought.

"Oh… it's just a nickname. Long story… didn't anybody ever give you a nickname? Friends, siblings?"

Chris shook his head.

"Not even your lovers?"

"That's inappropriate, Jim."

"Why? I talk about my love life all the time."

"That's exactly my point."

"Oh come on…! So…?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "No. They usually don't stick around long enough to get a chance to come up with something like that."

"See, I knew we had something in common," Jim replied, grinning cheekily.

"I want to do something painful to you right now," Chris informed him.

"You still need me to get the ship home safe and sound," Jim reminded him.

"Pah. I do believe Spock would be capable of that. Hell, I'd even trust McCoy more than you, when it comes to getting us home in one piece."

"I'm touched," the doctor's amused voice drawled from behind him.

"Listening to your friends' private conversations is not nice, Bones," Jim chastised him, but ruined the effect with a smile that lit his blue eyes.

"As if I hadn't got anything better to do…!" McCoy huffed. "I just came to make sure that you aren't molesting my patients."

"I'm not molesting him," Jim protested, "we were having a serious conversation."

Chris harrumphed. "Right…"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"… besides, he's not my type, so what would be the point?"

"Jim!"

"Jim, I swear, that mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble one of these days…" McCoy groaned, stretching out an arm to steady Chris, who had jerked up from his comfortable resting position a bit too fast. "Easy does it, Captain. Jim, you're upsetting my patient, which isn't conductive to his recovery. Get the hell out of here and find something useful to do."

"Oh, don't be such an old grump, Bones," Jim protested, but he turned to leave. Chris could have sworn he heard a sigh from the doctor, as the doors shut.

"Sorry about that," McCoy said, turning back to him. "I suppose we shouldn't let him run around the ship without adult supervision."

"I'm fine, McCoy. Stop fussing." Chris smiled wryly. "At least I'll never get bored as long as he's around. It's a bit like being a parent to a brilliant, but very difficult teenager."

McCoy raised his brows. "You _are_ his father figure, I suppose," he grudgingly admitted.

"I am?" Chris was a bit baffled by that frank statement. "I never really thought about it… but I guess it makes sense. Taking our relationship to a more personal level was the only way to get to him… he has no respect for authority of any kind. None whatsoever. If I wanted to keep him at the Academy, I had to make sure that he would listen to me when I tried to enforce our code of conduct… and I wanted to keep Jim at the Academy badly. For his own sake, but mostly for Starfleet's."

McCoy looked at him for a long moment, appearing thoughtful. Chris felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise under that scrutinizing blue gaze. Something about McCoy made him feel vaguely uncomfortable… though not in a bad way. "You don't have kids, do you?", the young doctor finally asked.

Chris shook his head. "No, of course not."

"Shame", McCoy said, "because you'd make an excellent father. Jim isn't the only difficult kid you've tutored, is he? I know that Spock is your protégé, and considering the fact that Chekov has been all over me with questions about you these past few days, I guess he idolizes you, too."

"I suppose, they really _are_ like my children," Chris admitted, "It's why I took a teaching job at the Academy. I enjoy being around young people… I like passing on knowledge, and it keeps me young, too."

"Because you're _that_ old," McCoy replied with a smile.

"Old enough to actually be the father of nearly everybody on this ship. Including you, I suppose."

"You'd be a very young father. Biologically it's possible, I suppose, but don't you _dare_ to ever go paternal on me, Captain." McCoy's mesmerizing blue eyes sparkled with amusement. It was a wonderful sight amid all the chaos and confusion of the past days. "I'm curious, though… why the _'of course not'_?"

Chris shrugged. "It's damn near impossible to have some semblance of a personal life when you are a Starfleet Captain, and much less a family… I don't want to discourage you, but Starfleet has a tendency to swallow up a person as a whole."

"I already figured that out by myself, thank you," McCoy replied sourly, the amusement rapidly fading from his expression. "But it would've been nice if you'd told me that three years ago."

"You told me you had nothing to lose," Chris retorted.

To his surprise, McCoy looked away. "I suppose, I lied, then. I have a daughter."

Chris stared at him. How come he'd missed that? Sure, he had never actually pulled McCoy's file, mostly because it hadn't been necessary, but he had frequently been in contact with the young doctor during his Academy time… and how could he have missed that? He studied McCoy's profile, wondering what else he didn't know about the man.

"How old is she?" Maybe she hadn't been born yet, when he had recruited McCoy…? And why was he feeling guilty about that all of a sudden? Short of recruiting Jim, recruiting McCoy had quite probably been his best choice ever made.

"Five. Joanna is five."

"Oh." It was all he could say. He shouldn't have been feeling bad about it, but he did. He was suddenly very keenly aware of the fact that McCoy could very well have died in their confrontation with Nero. Hell, he'd only ascended to the position of CMO because his predecessor had died. If Joanna McCoy was a lucky little girl, she'd never learn how close she had been to having no father anymore.

Maybe McCoy was thinking similar thoughts, because he said: "You have no idea how badly I want to be home, hug my little girl and tell her that everything's going to be alright and that I won't leave her again. But that would be a lie, wouldn't it?"

Chris swallowed hard. "Probably," he agreed.

* * *

><p><em>Hi everyone! I am sorry I made you wait for this chapter! I hope you like it. Please read &amp; review!<em>


	5. The Homeward Journey

_- "Are you aware it's the captain's guts you're analyzing?" -  
>Leonard McCoy in the TOS episode "The Enemy Within"<em>

* * *

><p>After their conversation about Joanna, Chris felt strangely self-conscious around McCoy. He would have avoided him, if possible, but since he was tied to his bed, there was no way of stepping around the CMO. McCoy even refused to let him return to his quarters. "Sick people belong in sickbay," he told Chris in that no-nonsense tone he occasionally used with Jim. "Don't try to argue with me, because this is an argument that I'll win. I have tangible evidence that says you are too sick to be anywhere but here, and I don't care how you feel about it."<p>

"You're not supposed to tell a patient that you don't care about his feelings," Chris complained. "Doctors are supposed to be compassionate."

"And patients are supposed to be nice, calm and compliant," McCoy replied.

"I'm still your Captain, McCoy. You can't tie me to this bed forever."

"You have no idea," McCoy muttered ironically, but then sobered: "I'm not planning on keeping you here forever. If I get my wishes, you'll be walking around again, and commanding your ship, and saving Jim's sorry ass when Starfleet Commands hauls him in for questioning."

"I would like that," Chris said softly.

"Then let's work on it. And stop giving me a hard time."

"But you like it," Chris replied with a shrug and the hints of a smile on his face, "you enjoy a challenge."

"You think I'm a masochist?" McCoy asked in mock horror.

"Are you?"

"I'm not into physical pain – or any other kind of pain, if that's what you're asking. And I do wish people would just let me do my job." He shot Chris a dirty look. "Speaking of pain – your nerve regeneration treatment is going to hurt like hell, not to mention the physical therapy."

"Will it work?"

"It should. So far, all the damage we found is treatable. It'll take time, specialists and quite a bit of endurance, but you do have one advantage."

"Which would be…?"

The faintest of smiles grazed McCoy's full lips. "You are the most stubborn person I have ever met. Sometimes I think you stayed alive not so much because you cling to your life, but out of sheer spite. You didn't want to give Nero the triumph of having defeated you."

Chris looked up at him, studied that broad, familiar face. Its features were strangely contradictory. The dark, always slightly furrowed brows, conveying a sense of fierce resolution, that idea that he would do whatever he had set his mind on, no matter what the cost. The bright, curious eyes, gleaming with a slightly cynical humor that might turn misanthropic as he got older and more familiar with loss, but for now was one of his most attractive features. The curve of his lips, sensual, softer than his other features, and despite his gruffness so ready to break into a smile, a real smile, not one of the fake ones that people learned to use as a mask. McCoy never wore a mask. His face was completely open, honest. If he was happy, you would see it, and if he was angry, you would see it, too. He was not handsome in the classical sense, not in the way that Jim was, and that was bordering on pretty, because he was young, and boyish and despite all his experience still innocent in a way that older men barely understood. Nor did his face hold any of the exotic attractiveness that caused people to cast a second, secretive glance at Spock, because they were fascinated by his alien features.  
>And yet there was a unique beauty to it, a male beauty, strong and singular and vigorous, but not ready to conform to any regular standard or be sorted into any category.<p>

"You're staring," McCoy informed him laconically and Chris' mind snapped back into attention, turning from whichever strange path it had followed.  
><em>This is wrong<em>, Chris heard a very calm, very serious voice at the back of his head say, _you should not think about him this way. If you said something like that, it could already be considered harassment. _

_But I would never say it_, another voice protested. _Those are just idle thoughts. _

He averted his gaze and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Sorry. I am a little tired."

When he looked back up, he saw McCoy nod, as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. To him, it probably was. Chris knew it was a polite lie.

"You should rest." There was warmth in his voice, the warmth of kindness. Jim had been right.  
><em>He is one of the good guys. One of the best, in fact. And one of my people<em>.

* * *

><p>The next two days brought a lot of visitors to sickbay. Apparently, McCoy had been unable to shut them out any longer, and now they filed inside, one after the other, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups of two or three. Spock came, but seemed distracted and would not stay long, he probably had too much on his mind, and Chris saw the raw pain in his dark eyes. He wished he could have helped the Vulcan, but it was not his calling. Spock wasn't ready to talk yet, and when he was, Chris doubted that he would be the right person to listen to his story.<p>

Sulu came, smiling shyly and looking relieved. Chris smiled back and complimented him for his bravery and excellent work. The young helmsman blushed furiously, but he looked quite happy.  
>Then there was Nyota Uhura, another one of Chris' personal recruitments. He had lost sight of her for a while, because she had been enrolled in the language program, and too engrossed in her work to stray far into his department. Once again, he noticed how beautiful she was, it was hard to blame the men aboard for staring at her, when she passed them. Chris didn't stare, but he admired her nonetheless.<p>

Chekov bustled into the room, all youthful excitement and energy, talking faster than the speed of light and barely taking the time to breathe. He told Chris about his findings on the slug – he had dissected it very carefully, much to the chagrin of Spock, who had wanted to have a look at it himself and complained, that there was nothing left of it, once it Chekov was done with it. There were hardly any new findings, but Chekov wouldn't let that discourage him. Chris couldn't help but smile. Somehow, the boy managed to make the world a brighter place just be being there. It was impossible not to like him.  
>"He's like a puppy," Jim commented. "You can't kick him without feeling bad about it, and he simply wriggles his way into your heart. I think I'll keep him."<p>

"We'll see about that," Chris replied. "Two teenage geniuses on one ship would be too much to bear for most captains."

"Well, then I'm afraid that you'll have to command it," Jim replied, grinning.

"In your dreams. It's McCoy who's the masochist, not me."

Jim laughed. "Seems like you're getting to know him."

"I don't really have much of a choice; I can hardly run from him. It's a good thing he's such a likable person and apparently infinitely patient, otherwise we would probably be at each other's throats by now. I don't do confinement very well, I'm afraid."

Jim shrugged. "Who does?" Suddenly, his youthful face grew serious. "Do you think he'll get in trouble for smuggling me aboard? It w_as_ a serious breach of regulations, after all."

Chris looked at him, a feeling of warmth spreading in his chest. It was nice to see that Jim cared. For all his stupid stunts and reckless disrespect, the boy was fiercely loyal to his friends. _No, not a boy anymore_, he corrected himself, _maybe he was a boy, when McCoy smuggled him aboard, but he certainly isn't now. Nobody can do what he did, live through this hell of a mess, and remain unchanged._

He smiled, and as he did, he knew that it would look vaguely sad. "Jim, I think Starfleet has other things to worry about right now. There are far more serious issues to be addressed, and since this particular breach did no harm, they will probably just drop the matter entirely. Besides… who says that he smuggled you aboard? For all we know, I could have changed my mind and decided that I needed you aboard."

"Half the crew knows."

"And do you think they'd turn you in? Because I don't."

"Not even Spock?"

"Especially not Spock," Chris replied firmly. "You need to start trusting each other. He's not your enemy, Jim. And he's a damn fine officer."

Jim looked away, shifting uncomfortably. "Maybe I'm jealous," he said quietly.

Chris raised his brows. "Of Spock? Why?" Not that he hadn't expected the two of them to dislike each other at first; they were polar opposites, after all… but jealousy?

"It just seems that he gets all the things I don't… commendation after commendation, everybody's respect, his own command… even the one girl I never managed to charm… not that I'm in love with Uhura, or anything, it was just a game, but still – "

"Jim," Chris said, shaking his head incredulously, "do you realize how silly that sounds? The two of you just saved the world – our world at least – together and you are worried about people liking him better than you…?"

"It's true, though, isn't it? Everybody is so impressed by his brilliance, and how he made it through the Academy, even though he's half Vulcan… nobody ever expected him to succeed, but he did, and they admire that. Whereas everybody always expected me to do great things… and they were disappointed when I didn't. So yeah, I'm jealous. I know it's irrational. He probably wouldn't even understand it. And that's another thing that bugs me, by the way – why does he try so damn hard to be inhuman? I know that he's got feelings like everybody else, because I walked all over them when I tried to get him to back down. So why all the playacting? He's exotic enough as it is, even without creeping people out by that unemotional coldness."

Chris sighed. "Jim… for someone who puts on such a show of confidence, you're surprisingly insecure. And stop talking about _"everybody"_, because we both know that you don't care about the general public's opinion. With you, it's only about a select few, whose opinion you value. I can't speak for the other people in that exclusive group, but knowing that I'm part of it, I can tell you this: I don't like Spock better than you. I think that you are both equally brilliant, just in different ways. He has everything you lack, and vice versa. That's why I put the two of you in charge when I left the ship. I knew that you were our only hope. Each of you can be great, but I want you to work together, because I know that as a team, you could be even greater. Now, as for Spock's… issues, that is a very private matter. You should leave him alone for the time being, but maybe you can ask him about when you get to know each other better. Just this much – if you think that you are the only one with serious parent issues, you are mistaken. Spock is just as torn as you are. He wants his parents to be proud of him. Now in Amanda's case, that should have been easy to do, because she loved him unconditionally, but now she's dead, and he's blaming himself for that. And as for Sarek… you've met him. Do you think that living up to _his_ expectations is an easy thing to do?"

"Probably not," Jim conceded, before adding in an afterthought, "how come you know him so well?" There was a hint of suspiciousness in his voice, a hint of jealousy.

"You are not the first student I coached through the Academy, even though you may have been the last. Besides, Spock served under my command for a while. That's why I requested him for this mission. When in doubt, surround yourself with people you know you can rely on." He leant back into the pillows, feeling exhausted for no apparent reason. But then, dealing with Jim's moods could get quite strenuous. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, feeling a shudder run through his body. Odd. He wasn't even cold… but he felt slightly nauseous. McCoy would probably gloat with _I-told-you-sos._  
><em>Guess he was right<em>, Chris thought ruefully, _I am not nearly as strong as I would like to be… but I'll be damned if I let him know about it…_

"Are you okay?" Jim asked, instinctively leaning closer.

Chris waved a vague hand. "It's nothing. Don't change the topic."

"Is there anything left to say…? I get it – Spock's got his own problems to deal with, so I should leave him alone and make friends with him." He sighed softly. "I just don't know if I can. But if you think it's important, I'll try. He's… not that bad."

Chris smiled faintly. "No, he's not. And since I know how much you enjoy provoking him into showing an emotional reaction, I suggest you stun him by offering your hand in friendship. He won't expect that, so you may catch him off guard. And send him down to see me, once he's off duty… he and I will have a few words regarding Ms. Uhura. I may not have McCoy reprimanded for smuggling you aboard, but I'll certainly give Spock a dressing down if I find that he cheated in getting _her_ aboard."

Jim looked positively gleeful at that. "I'll tell him to go visit you," he promised.

"Oh, I'm sure you will." Chris rolled his eyes. _Boys…_

* * *

><p>When Chris awoke from a light mid-afternoon nap that had turned into fitful slumber, McCoy was back in sickbay. He had been working double shifts ever since Nero's bombardment of deck 6 had killed Dr. Puri and shot much of the Enterprise's original sickbay to pieces. Since they were at least two doctors short – not to mention the nurse, the lab assistant and the two medical technicians that had been killed – Chris couldn't very well tell McCoy to take it easy… and he doubted that the CMO would have complied. He also had to admit that McCoy had done a marvelous job so far. Apart from saving Chris' life (and quite a few others, he suspected), he had reorganized sickbay, salvaged what he could of the medical equipment and stores and relocated both to the part of the former sickbay that had been left more or less intact, as well as several adjacent rooms, arguing that sharing rooms would not kill the crew, while not having a functioning sickbay might do so.<p>

"And that," he had told Chris with a smug expression on his face, "is another reason I can't let you go back to your quarters: they're taken. Unless you'd care to have Vulcan roommates…?"

"I'd vastly prefer them to some other people aboard this ship," Chris had replied sarcastically, "at least they are quiet and considerate."

McCoy was busy examining one of his other patients, a young engineering officer, who had been injured in the attack, but appeared to have recovered fast. "Alright," he heard the doctor tell her in his usual gruff tone, "You may go back to work. But no lifting for at least another two weeks, and if you overexert yourself, you'll be back in sickbay faster than you can say _'warp core'. _I've already had words with your supervisor and he'll report to me, if you do anything foolish."

The young woman nodded solemnly, appearing somewhat impressed.

"Off you go," McCoy said, waving her away. As the doors closed behind her, he turned around and walked up to Chris' bed.

"I've got a surprise for you," he announced.

"You'll finally let me out of sickbay…?" Chris suggested.

McCoy snorted. "Yeah, right. No, it's not that. Lieutenant Uhura informed me that since most communication systems are finally back online, all crewmembers can once again send and receive private message, and there is a limited capacity for personal calls. I suppose there are many worried family members to placate. In fact, _your_ family has been among the most insistent." He quirked a brow, looking amused. "I didn't know that your brother-in-law is the commander of Jupiter Station."

"Blame it on my little sister. Balder is a very reasonable and discrete man. Laurel, however, is quite the opposite. She probably made him throw in his weight."

McCoy shrugged. "Well, anyway… they sent several messages and would like to speak to you, if you feel up to it."

"I doubt that I'll have much of a choice, if I want Laurel to stop pestering everyone. There's just one small problem – I can hardly walk to the next comm terminal." He ground his teeth after the words were out, they were too humiliating.

"The CMO's office is fully equipped and if we clear the path for you, it should afford you the necessary privacy." Chris watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach as McCoy called one of his nurses to assist him. The old cliché prevailing, more than two thirds of the nurses working for Starfleet were female. Chris idly wondered why, trying to ignore the fact that the nurse in question was currently helping McCoy to lift him into a wheelchair; two pairs of strong, capable hands carefully handling his crippled body. Chris hated every second of the procedure.

They pushed him through the improvised sickbay, and into the CMO's office. Pike new for a fact that McCoy had barely set a foot in there since he had assumed the position. _He'll never hide behind a desk, or even sit at one, if there's anything else to be done_, he thought.

After the wheelchair had been placed comfortably close to the monitor, McCoy turned to leave. "If you need anything…"

"Have you called your daughter yet?" Chris interrupted him.

He saw McCoy's face darken, watched him turn away his gaze. "I briefly spoke to her mother, and I sent them a message. She is five years old; I doubt she even understands what happened." It was a half-lie, and they both knew it. Chris let him leave without further inquiries.

* * *

><p><em>Was lange wärt, wird endlich gut... I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter!<em>


	6. Relapse

_- "Even you are not rich enough, Sir Robert, to buy back your past. __No man is." –_

_Oscar Wilde, „An Ideal Husband"_

* * *

><p>"Chris! Oh my God, I was so scared…! I thought… when they told us what had happened, I thought you were dead, and then they said you were injured, and we couldn't contact you, and…!" Looking into his sister's face, seeing the tears, the dark shadows, and the intense relief in her grey eyes, Chris sighed. As he had expected, Laurel was hysterical, but after more than three decades, he was starting to get used to her moods. She always overdid it, but in this case, it was hard to blame her. He <em>could<em> have been dead now. In fact, it was a miracle that he wasn't.

"I'm fine, Laurel."

"Well, you don't look _'fine'_ to me," Laurel sniffed. "What happened?"

Chris exchanged a quick glance with his brother in law, who was sitting at Laurel's side like a silent shadow. Balder would understand. Balder would know why he could not tell Laurel, at least not in detail. They had both made it their life's work to protect her, because that was what big brothers and husbands did. Laurel did not need to know about Nero, and the pain and the torture; she did not need to know about those hours he had spent, hoping he would die, and fighting back against it at the same time… and most of all, Laurel did not need to know about that last, shameful secret that Chris had kept from everyone so far: the fact that Nero had been successful in extracting the frequencies.

Laurel caught him looking, and frowned. "What are you not telling me?" She asked suspiciously.

"It's not… there's just some things I don't remember, and others that I cannot tell you about…"

His sister sighed, but then she suddenly turned around to look at somebody outside the picture. "Yes?" Laurel snapped. A strange voice mumbled something Chris did not quite catch. He heard his sister object, heard the other voice get more insistent, saw Balder turn and give a jerk of his head and finally heard Laurel say: "Oh, all right, calm down, I'll do it…! Geez! Chris…" – she turned back to face him – "… we'll continue this later. There seems to be a little emergency. Those _idiots_… oh well…" She got up and disappeared.

Chris raised his brows at his brother-in-law. "What was that all about?"

Balder shrugged. "Work. Some defect downstairs, and Laurel's on call today. It gives you a chance to talk to me without your sister overhearing and starting to fret, and I think you should use it." Balder looked at him sternly.

Chris winced. "I'm not sure if I want t to tell _you_ about it."

"Look at it this way – do you have anybody else you could talk to?"

Chris frowned. "You are a terrible person, Balder."

"Yeah, well, I guess my brother got all the charms nature had to offer our family. Unfortunately, he got himself killed twenty years ago, so you'll have to deal with me. Also, I doubt that talking to Thore would have helped a lot. He was too much like Laurel."

"It's kind of strange, isn't it?" Chris mused. "You married my sister, who greatly resembles your brother. You think that's a coincidence? Or maybe fate?"

"I don't believe in fate. No, I just think it's nature's way of making up for certain deficiencies. You and I are both rational, thoughtful people. Our lives are stable and unexciting. But man needs a little excitement now and then, and that's why people like us need people like Laurel and Thore. Chaotic people, who cause plenty of excitement wherever they go, but their lives lack stability. So that's why Laurel and I are a good match; and for a brief time, you and my brother were, too."

Balder looked at Chris, his blue eyes kind and thoughtful. "Why is it that we always end up talking about my brother, when I wanted to talk about you?"

"Diversionary tactics, Balder. I've known you long enough."

"It's not just that. You have a problem. A serious one, I suspect. You always talk about Thore when you have a problem, because he is the very impersonation of everything problematic in your life."

Chris sighed. "You may be right. Focusing on your beautiful, charming, problematic brother helps me see things clearer."

Balder shook his head. "No. Focusing on my beautiful, idiotic, dead brother helps you avoid thinking about the actual problem. Thore is gone, Chris. Has been for a long time. How about you focus on me instead and tell me what's troubling you?"

"Apart from the fact that I might be confined to a wheelchair and unfit for duty for a considerable amount of time…?"

Once again, Balder shrugged. "You're tough. You'll deal with it. Is there a decent doctor left on your ship?"

"He's a genius," Chris assured him, "I owe that young man my life – several times over, I suspect."

"Well, do something nice for him, if you get around to it. So you're in good hands. Back to the real problem..."

"You're persistent, aren't you?"

"Have to be, when dealing with you. So?"

Chris finally gave in and told him. It did not exactly make him feel better, but he was curious to hear what Balder had to say about it.

His brother-in-law left him waiting for a long moment before replying: "I guess, you will be facing an inquest."

"Most of us are going to have to answer some questions," Chris said, "but that is not what's bothering me."

"What's bothering you is that you gave in," Balder stated.

Chris nodded. "Exactly."

"You had no choice. Talk to that doctor of yours, I'm sure that he'll explain to you that the toxin that parasite released made it impossible for you to think straight. A chemical reaction, nothing more. Sure, it's not very flattering, but you committed no mistake."

"I don't want to be exonerated. What I really want is to go back in time and change things."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Balder stated matter-of-factly, "you'll have to live with it."

"What if I can't?"

"You can, because you have to. Starfleet is in a very tight spot right now, Chris. You have a sworn duty to perform. You can't back out, because you're having doubts about your judgment."

Chris shook his head. "I wish I had your confidence."

"You have your own, so you don't need mine," Balder replied. "And now get back to bed, you look bad. I'll tell your sister that we had a nice chat and that you'll need some time to recover. Glossing over potentially unpleasant things is part of my responsibility as her husband, and I'm getting very good at it." He smirked.

Chris smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Getting you back on track also seems to be one of my responsibilities, even though I'd gladly hand it over to someone else, if you could finally take the trouble to find a replacement for my brother…" He let the sentence trail off.

Chris rolled his eyes. "You don't replace people like that, Balder. My personal life does not compare to Starfleet's duty roster."

"Twenty years is a long time, Chris."

* * *

><p>"Well?" McCoy asked, when he entered the room, answering Chris' call, "did you placate your family?"<p>

"More or less", Chris replied. His head was spinning and he felt nauseous. Probably a bad sign, and it had nothing to do with his conversation with Balder. "Listen, I…"

Throwing up on McCoy's feet had certainly not been part of the plan to regain his dignity, but he couldn't help it. He could not remember ever having felt this violently sick in his entire life.

McCoy swore colorfully and was at his side in an instant, never mind the shoes. He wrapped an arm around Chris' waist to steady him. "Easy," he said, his pleasant, soothing voice sounding very close to Chris' ear, "how long have you been feeling sick, and why the hell didn't you tell me? No, scratch the last part, I can easily imagine the answer to that… are you in pain?"

Was he in pain? His definition of _'pain'_ had changed a lot since the start of this accursed mission, and he would have neglected the fire burning in his stomach, but McCoy got really annoyed when he withheld symptoms, so… "Stomach cramps." Breathing was actually quite difficult when you were simultaneously trying to keep your entrails from leaping out to get some fresh air.

"Okay," McCoy said, "how long?" He was the only person Chris knew who could manage to make his voice sound caring and disapproving at the same time. It was really quite astonishing.

"A little while," he replied sheepishly. "But I didn't think it was anything worth mentioning."

McCoy groaned, now clearly exasperated. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that? May I remind you that of the two of us, _I _am the doctor and _you_ are the patient…?"

Chris wanted to reply something, but another wretched cramp forced him to keel over. His stomach did a summersault, and spilled the rest of its contents. Indistinctly, he heard McCoy shout for assistance.

Somebody came running, and then they were lifting him back onto a biobed. Chris hadn't even noticed the change of rooms. A hypospray was pressed to his neck, and he heard the soft purr of some sort of medical instrument, a scanner, perhaps, not that it mattered much. The nausea slowly seeped away, numbed by the effects of the hypospray. Chris sent a fervent thanks to the inventor of those.

He suddenly felt cold and realized that he was shivering. McCoy, apparently, did to. A soft blanket came over him, and when Chris opened his eyes, he was once again met with that startling blue gaze.

McCoy looked worried, which was never a good sign in a doctor.

"You are not supposed to feel sick," he murmured, half to himself.

"I agree," Chris replied in a feeble attempt at humor. "So what's wrong?"

McCoy shook his head. "I don't know yet." He put a hand on Chris arm, maybe unconsciously, and stared down at him as if he expected to read the answer off his face.

"It's probably nothing," Chris commented, trying to sound unconcerned. "I suppose the environment on that Romulan ship wasn't exactly healthy, and getting poisoned by that slug must have dealt a nasty blow to my immune system."

_Wait a minute, why am I trying to comfort my physician…? Shouldn't be the other way round? _Chris could see the irony of the situation, but he liked McCoy better grumpy and confident than confused and worried. Besides, comforting distraught crewmembers was part of his job and despite everything that had happened, he still felt responsible for this crew. They were his people.

_Yeah, try to reason your way out of the fact that you said that because you don't want him to be upset. Because you __**like**__ him._

"You're right about the last part," McCoy acknowledged, "the slug did a pretty good job at wiping out your entire immune system. Now, it shouldn't matter, because this ship is _clean_, as is everybody on it. There shouldn't be anything that could upset your stomach – or anything else for that matter. Except for you, Jim, Spock and Mr. Scott, nobody has been outside and returned since this mission departed from Earth, and I sent the three of them through decon as soon as I could. And we took care of everything _you_ had in your system down here. There's a faint chance that something might have escaped, since we didn't exactly follow protocol and send everybody through decon right after they got aboard, but it's not very likely."

"And you had other things to deal with," Chris added. "Minor matters such as keeping your captain alive."

McCoy, still looking down at him, suddenly smiled. It was a small smile, but God, it was beautiful. Chris tried to ascribe the brief flutter in his stomach to the cramps, but deep down he knew that the two were probably unconnected.

_I wonder if I have to thank Balder for this_, Chris thought ironically, _talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy! He'd get a good laugh out of this one; it makes me look like a complete fool. And dammit, this is the last thing I need right now, on top of everything else…!_

"Are you feeling better?"

_Not exactly, but that's not your fault… or rather, it is, but in a totally different way than you'd expect. And I'll be damned if I ever tell you._

"Somewhat. I feel exhausted, though."

"That's not exactly surprising." McCoy straightened up and moved to pull the privacy curtains shut. "I'll see to it that you get some rest and aren't disturbed, while we try to find out what caused this."

"Thanks."

_Go away, please. I need to think and your presence impedes my ability to do that. It's too distracting._

McCoy turned to look at him, his frown softening into an almost tender expression. "You're welcome."

Chris closed his eyes and let out the breath he had held back.

_I am in so much trouble…_

* * *

><p><em>He was dreaming, but to his own surprise and relief, his dream was not about Leonard McCoy, but about Thore Rasmussen. Dreaming about Thore was okay. After all, they had been in a committed relationship, even though it lay many years away in the past, and Chris had loved Thore more than he had ever loved anybody else, so he felt entitled to dreaming about him. Besides, being dead, Thore was a safe choice. Safer than his living, breathing, infuriation doctor, in any case. Who by the way was not only fifteen years his junior, but also a member of his crew and quite obviously heterosexual… but back to Thore…<em>

_Thore was sitting on the lawn beneath the old cherry tree in the garden of Judge Richard C. Pike, who would certainly have disapproved of some impertinent blond boy sitting in his garden and eating his cherries; especially since Thore was having a little cherry pit spitting contest with himself._

"_You should really come down and quit sulking, you know," he told Chris, his vibrant voice laced with laughter. Thore always seemed to be laughing at something or nothing at all._

"_I'm not sulking," Chris protested._

"_Yes, you are, sweetheart." And now, he __**was**__ laughing."You are, because I'll always be young and happy, and beautiful, while you are growing old and tired and you feel that your life is empty."_

"_You sound like your brother," Chris said._

_Thore spit a cherry pit at the nearest rosebush. "Maybe I __**am**__ my brother," he pointed out. "This is your memory, after all, and it's seriously messed up. I never was __**that**__ beautiful, Chris, and my eyes were a different shade of blue. You're confusing things. You're starting to forget me."_

"_Never," Chris heard himself whisper in shock, looking at that beloved, youthful face and frantically trying to remember what was wrong with it._

_Thore shook his head impatiently and his golden curls shone in the sunlight as if lit from within. Chris felt his heart ache at the sight._

"_I miss you," he whispered._

"_Yeah?" Thore spit out another pit. "Well, that's because you're an idiot, Chris. I'm dead, you know."_

_He slowly got up, stretching his long limbs. Chris watched as he stepped closer, his bare feet very pale against the summer-green grass. Thore stopped right in front of him and held up the index finger of his right hand, pointing it at Chris. "You, my love, are my wonderfully foolish knight in shining armor, and you'll never realize that the greatest obstacle to you being happy is in here." He lightly tipped Chris' brow with his finger. And then he leant forward, touching his lips to Chris. Dream kisses rarely have anything to do with reality, but as Chris leaned closer to deepen it, he realized that something was wrong with this one. Dreams are volatile, and sometimes the people that are in them suddenly change._

_It took Chris a moment to realize that he wasn't kissing Thore anymore. Aquamarine had transformed into lapis lazuli._

_He looked up and into Leonard McCoy's troubled eyes._


	7. Jupiter Station

_"Life and death are seldom logical."  
>Leonard McCoy, TOS "The Galileo Seven"<em>

* * *

><p>Jim was dimly aware of the well-known sound of the comm. buzzer seeping into his dreams. It was an annoying sound. He was tired, exhausted, he wanted to sleep. Why were they bothering him?<p>

_Because you are captain of this vessel. That's why…. ah, dammit, forgot about that for a minute there…_

Groggily, he sat up. "Yes…?"

It was the cute blonde from sickbay, but it took him a moment to remember her name… Chapel, it was. Christine Chapel.

"Captain, I am sorry to disturb you, but you are needed in sickbay."

"Huh?" Jim yawned. "Excuse me. What happened?"

"We have a… situation."

"Oh." There were a few standard sentences frequently used in Starfleet's internal communication that were portents of catastrophe disguised as regular, harmless phrases. This was one of them. _'We have a situation' _could translate to anything from _'there is a rampaging maniac on the loose' _to _'the world is about to end'_.

"I'm on my way."

He arrived in sickbay less than three minutes later, maybe not expecting the worst, but at least some noise, commotion and fireworks. Instead, there was the dimly lit nightly hush of sickbay underlined by the dull but incessant whirring and beeping of various machinery and life support systems.

One of the compartments had been sealed off completely, making it a small, almost hermetically closed room of its own and Christine Chapel was standing just outside, looking young and insecure in the pale, bluish light.

"Who's being quarantined?" Jim asked, joining her.

"Captain," she acknowledged his presence. "It's Pike. He's had a relapse, if you can call it that."

"What happened?"

She shrugged. "We're not exactly sure. He seemed to be doing better, and then he suddenly collapsed. Dr. McCoy's working theory is that the slug's toxin wiped out his entire immune system and left him vulnerable to any kind of viral or bacterial infection. He must have caught something."

"On a starship?" Jim asked. "I've had some basic medical training, too, Christine; it's mandatory. So I know that's very unlikely."

"It's the only plausible explanation."

"His chances?"

"I wouldn't know. But from the way McCoy is reacting, they can't be good. He's freaked out. And it takes a lot to freak out McCoy."

"Tell me about it," Jim muttered. "Can I go in?"

She turned to look at him with some scorn. "I thought you said you'd had basic medical training? If so, you should know that you can't just walk into a clean room."

"Why did you call me, then?"

"Because somebody has to keep McCoy from going crazy if we lose this patient. We still need him to treat the other twenty-two."

She had a point there. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse. He blames himself." Christine Chapel shook her head, frowning with tightly pursed lips. "For a man this intelligent, McCoy is behaving surprisingly idiotic. He did the best he could do under the circumstances and apparently, that wasn't enough, but that's just part of the job. Bad things happen, and we aren't gods. I'm ten years younger than he is, but he makes me feel wise beyond my years."

"I'll talk to him, okay?" Jim said.

"Please. You're his friend. He could use a friend right now."

"Where is he?"

"Doing rounds. Checking up on some of the injured crewmen. That way." She pointed towards the left.

Jim followed her directions and found his friend in one of the adjoining rooms that had been turned into a makeshift hospital room after the partial destruction of the ship's original sickbay. He was bent over a monitor, checking some readings.

"Bones," he said quietly, trying not to startle the doctor.

"Jesus, Jim, shouldn't you be fast asleep in your quarters? What are you doing here?"

He looked terrible. Exhausted did not even begin to cover it.

"Making sure you don't drop dead and leave us without a doctor," Jim deadpanned. "Just looking at you makes me sick. Go get some rest, Bones. And don't make me order you to bed. I'd feel incredibly silly."

Bones shook his head. His blue eyes were tormented. "Jim, I can't."

Jim sighed. "Pike?"

"Among others."

"Is there any chance he could make it?"

McCoy remained silent for a long moment. Too long. "There's always a chance. In this case, it's a very slim one, though."

Jim took his arm. "Let's take this outside before we disturb your patients, shall we?"

"Okay."

Jim led him outside into the corridor and waited for the door to shut, before turning around to face him. "Now," he said. "Tell me about it."

Bones shrugged. "There's really not much to tell. The Centaurian Slug's poison wiped out his immune system, and now a simple viral infection is threatening his life."

"Is there no treatment?"

"There is, but it took me too long to detect and understand the problem." The agony in his look was hard to bear. "I failed him. I should have realized it sooner... I should..."

"Bones." Jim put a hand on his shoulder. "You are not God. No one expects you to be all-knowing and omnipotent. You are treating twenty-four patients simultaneously, some of them with serious injuries, with limited resources, no staff except Christine Chapel, and all amid the chaos following the destruction of Starfleet's auxiliary fleet and an entire planet. Nobody expected any miracles, and you worked several already."

He felt the doctor's scrutinizing gaze on him for a long moment. He seemed... surprised.

"When did you grow up and become a reasonable adult?" He inquired.

"Oh, I don't know - sometime between the destruction of Vulcan and accompanying Spock on a suicide mission to rescue Earth and our Captain...?" Jim suggested sarcastically. "Who by the way, is _not _going to die."

"How do you know?"

"It's Pike, Bones, for Heaven's sake! It's simply not possible. The man is virtually indestructible. I was convinced we had lost him the minute he stepped into that shuttle and headed towards the _Narada_, but no, when I get there, I find him alive and conscious enough to fire a phaser at a Romulan who was trying to sneak up on me. You think a simple virus would kill him? Throughout our time at the Academy, he was that larger than life hero, mentor, father figure, inspiration. He recruited nearly every person on this ship, trained them, formed them. You think he'd simply leave us? Have some faith in him."

"I wish I had a spoonful of your optimism," the doctor replied with a heavy sigh.

"Okay, Bones. Worst case scenario: He dies. What will you do?"

Bones shot him an unfriendly look. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. But I'm worried. He's not just any other patient to you... I mean, not that you don't care about your other patients, but he's..."

"The Captain."

Jim shook his head. "Technically, I am. No. I was going to say, he is a friend. Isn't he?"

"In a way, yes."

"So, what will you do?"

"Treat my other twenty-three patients and hope we make it back to Earth in one piece, I suppose."

"I think you're lying, Bones."

Just then, he found himself at the receiving end of a truly-Bones death glare.

Jim sighed. "Let's just hope he doesn't die," he muttered.

* * *

><p>Jim felt absolutely certain that no other starship crew had ever been so happy to see a space station appear on its screens.<p>

"Jupiter Station, this is the _Enterprise_, please respond." Uhura's voice floated across the bridge and for a moment, they all held their breath.

After a moment of static hiss, a cheerful voice responded. "We see you _Enterprise. _Welcome home." A red-haired, freckled you man appeared on the view screen. "Lieutenant Matthew Fickle," he introduced himself. "We were informed by Starfleet command that you would arrive shortly and be in need of assistance. Please state your most pressing needs, so we can proceed accordingly."

Uhura looked to Jim, who took the hint and a step forward. "Lieutenant Fickle, this is Acting Captain Kirk. Thank you for the warm welcome. We have several severely injured crewmembers and are in urgent need of medical assistance. Please have your chief medical officer contact Dr. McCoy to discuss the details. The ship has taken heavy damage. Repairs are under way, but our own resources are limited. Due to... uh... _unfortunate circumstances _we were also forced to eject our warp core. There is also a group of survivors from Vulcan aboard the ship. Ambassador Sarek will want to get in contact with the other survivors as soon as possible."

"Acknowledged, _Enterprise._ The Station Commander will want to speak to you in person once you are in transporter range, Captain Kirk."

_Here goes..._, Jim thought, sighing. "Please inform Captain Rasmussen that I am looking forward to meeting him."

"He's going to have my head," Jim prophesied darkly, standing next to Scotty and Spock in that transporter room.

"That is very unlikely," Spock replied calmly.

"Captain Rasmussen is Captain Pike's brother-in-law. Pike is currently unconscious and confined to a clean room in sickbay. And he might not come out of that room alive. That should be reason enough for some resentment, shouldn't it?"

"It would be illogical for Captain Rasmussen to blame you for Captain Pike's illness. In fact, it would be reasonable to assume that he would be grateful to you for saving the Captain's life."

Jim shook his head. "Go ahead, Mr. Scott."

They watched as two men and a woman materialized on the transporter pad. The station commander was a tall, broad-chested man of middle age and truly commanding presence. His pale blue eyes found Jim's face and he frowned ever so slightly.

"Captain Kirk. I am Balder Rasmussen, commander of Jupiter Station. These are my chief engineer and chief medical officer. With your permission, I would like to send them out to meet their colleagues immediately." His voice was deep and self-assured, clipped, but not unfriendly.

"Of course." Jim nodded. "Mr. Spock, Mr. Scott, please escort them."

A moment later, Jim found himself alone in the room with Balder Rasmussen, who seemed to relax his stance slightly. "Formalities aside, Mr. Kirk - let me congratulate on surviving the Romulan attack, saving Earth and getting yourself and most of your crew back alive. A rather impressive feat for a cadet freshly out of the Academy... especially one my brother-in-law would curse loudly and colorfully as _'the most reckless, obstinate fool I have ever had the misfortune to tutor'_." His lips curled in a small smile.

"He said that?" Jim asked, unsure whether to be embarrassed or amused.

"Among other, less friendly things."

"Oh."

"So," the commander said. "Out with the truth, Cadet or Captain or whatever you are. How is Christopher?"

"Fighting for his life."

"Well, that's nothing new, at least," Rasmussen muttered, as if to himself, before looking up. "I take it his chances are less than good?"

"Dr. McCoy has teamed up with a Vulcan virologist, one of the survivors. According to them, the next twenty-four hours are critical. If he makes it through them, there's a good chance he'll survive."

The commander nodded. "I guess we'll wait and see."


	8. Savior

_**"**__Life and death are seldom logical."  
>- Leonard McCoy, TOS The Galileo Seven -<em>

* * *

><p>It had taken Leonard a little while to understand that his patient, who had been well on the road to slow but steady recovery, was once again threatening to slip through his fingers as yet another pointless loss.<p>

A bitter, helpless rage rose in his throat, choking him.

_No. No, this cannot be happening. Not again._

And not with him.

There was nothing in the world that he hated and feared as much as losing a patient to a foe he could not fight, a fatal wound, an untreatable illness.

Losing Captain Christopher Pike, though would not only be a personal failure, but also have consequences for both his future career and several of his personal relationships. Leonard was certain that without ever saying it out loud, his crewmates, and especially Jim, would blame him for their captain's death.

Without Pike's intervention, the brass was also way more likely to formally reprimand him for smuggling Jim aboard. Considering its current desperate need for qualified personnel, Starfleet was unlikely to fire him, but there were plenty of unpopular positions to fill, and Leonard felt that in the Admiralty's eyes, he would be a perfect candidate for one of those if he lost Pike.

What it all amounted to was this: Pike was important. He was popular with both his inferiors and superiors, a man who had advanced quietly but swiftly through the ranks, an able commander and destined to become one of the leading figures of Starfleet. He was also, arguably, a hero, for having survived Nero and saved his crew by buying them time.

His death, if he died here beneath Leonard's hands, adrift on a severely damaged ship somewhere in the vast emptiness of space, would serve no purpose. Leonard did not know him that well, but he felt fairly sure that Pike would resent that most of all. He had proven that he was not afraid of death... but it had to be a meaningful death.

There was also the slightly less important fact that Leonard genuinely liked him.

Pike had all the qualities he admired in another person; a sense of purpose, a strong will, charisma and a good sense of humor. He was fair, straightforward and willing to give everyone a second chance. It was obvious, too, that he cared about his people, be they cadets under his tutelage or a crew under his command, and that he valued their individual abilities. Leonard did have some authority issues, but he had never felt apprehensive following Pike's lead.

Losing him would hurt. It was as simple as that.

* * *

><p>Grudgingly, Leonard had to admit that Seeran was a big help.<p>

The quiet presence of the young Vulcan doctor - he was not much older than Leonard himself and given the longevity of his race that probably meant he was barely out of his teens in the eyes of his people - was a welcome addition to the usual bustle of sickbay.

As a virologist, Seeran had taken a keen interest in the treatment of Pike's infection and quickly determined that the virus was a common type of influenza that had probably arrived aboard the ship along with the survivor's from his home planet.

"In an otherwise healthy patient, this viral infection is usually harmless, barely more than a minor inconvenience," Seeran stated. "It is a rare opportunity to study its progression in a patient with a damaged immune system."

"What's the survival rate?"

Seeran looked up from his data padd. "Well, as I said, it has rarely been observed under such aggravated conditions... it is therefore difficult to make an accurate prediction."

"I guess that's Vulcan for _'let's hope for the best'_," Leonard said.

"If that makes you feel better, you can interpret it as such," Seeran replied.

"The only thing that would make me feel better would be him waking up," Leonard nodded towards Pike.

He felt Seeran's cool, analytical gaze on his face and tried not to flinch as the young Vulcan looked at him for a long moment. "You are very upset," he stated. "You feel a strong obligation towards Captain Pike. Is it because he is your superior officer?"

Leonard shrugged. "In part. I've also known him for a few years, and I guess I admire him." It was slightly uncomfortable to talk about his feelings for Pike, even though they were rather straightforward (or so he told himself). "I also owe him a debt of gratitude," he added. "Captain Pike recruited me for Starfleet. He believed in me when I didn't believe in myself."

Seeran nodded. "Taking human emotion into consideration, your reaction appears logical."

Which probably translated to _'I guess that makes sense'._

* * *

><p>They arrival at Jupiter Station, though long-awaited, was surprisingly unspectacular. While Jim was having a potentially unpleasant conversation with Captain Rasmussen, Leonard met his colleague and counterpart.<p>

Dr. Istvan Arany, CMO of Jupiter Station, was slim, wiry and of the opinion that a dose of optimism was the best medicine against any kind of illness. Sufficient to say that he and Leonard did not get along too well, especially after Dr. Arany suggested that Leonard should leave the care of his patients to him and get some rest. They were involved in a lengthy discussion regarding that particular idea when Christine Chapel interrupted them to report that Christopher Pike had just opened his eyes and demanded to know where he was.

Leonard immediately left Dr. Arany were he was, mid-sentence and slightly baffled, and rushed to his captain's bedside. He arrived in time to hear Seeran calmly explain to Pike that he had almost died of a viral infection and should consequently be feeling very weak.

As far as Leonard could tell, Pike was for the most part confused and slightly cranky.

"Who are you?" He asked the Vulcan. His voice sounded rough.

Seeran bowed his head slightly. "My name is Seeran. I do realize that we were never properly introduced. I came aboard with the group of Vulcan survivors your crew rescued. I am a virologist, which is why Dr. McCoy has asked me to help oversee your treatment."

"And where is McCoy?" Pike asked.

"I'm here," Leonard said, stepping into his field of vision. There was a strange tightness in his chest as he looked at Pike. He wondered if the Captain realized how close he had been to death and what losing him would have meant for Leonard. Probably not, though. And maybe it was for the better...

Pike looked relieved to see him. "Good," he said quietly.

"You should rest." Leonard told him, moving closer. "But maybe it will comfort you to hear that we have reached Jupiter Station. I will inform your family, and you may see them if you feel up to it."

Pike nodded.

"Dr. Arany, would you please inform Captain Rasmussen?" Leonard asked.

"Of course, of course. He will be very happy to hear it."

Leonard ignored him, preferring instead to check Pike's vital signs. They looked surprisingly normal. The tightness inside his chest gave way to infinite relief. _He made it. He's going to live._

He looked over at Pike, feeling his heart expand. Pike returned the gaze steadily. His face was still flushed from the fever, but his eyes were clear. "So," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "seems like you saved me again. You better watch it, McCoy. This is starting to become a weird habit of yours." His smile was faint, but it was there, and it made Leonard glad.

"Well, somebody has to," he replied.

Pike was still smiling at him, and Leonard was beginning to feel self-conscious when Laurel Rasmussen, née Pike, one of her children and her husband in tow, barged in and interrupted the awkward moment. Unsure whether to be grateful or sorry, Leonard retreated.

* * *

><p>Chris had been awake for a couple of days when he noticed that his doctor seemed to be avoiding him. It had been difficult to see at first, with all the commotion surrounding his unexpected recovery, but it looked as if McCoy was spending as little time around him as he could.<p>

_Or maybe he's just tired_, Chris chided himself. _Be fair. He probably spent every waking moment and quite a few that he should have slept in worrying about you._

Besides, he could hardly complain of a lack of visitors. His sister Laurel spent half her day by his bedside, a constant happy, chattering presence that reminded him very much of his youth. Her daughters had been there to visit, all three of them pale and blond as their father. Chris had not seen them for a while and was amazed at how they had changed in what seemed a very short time to him. He mentioned this to Laurel and she laughed at him. "That is what children usually do, Chris. They grow up. It's one of the many sad facts of life."

One afternoon, Balder came to sickbay just when Jim had arrived for one of his whirlwind visits that always left Chris a little breathless but rather amused. Jim had his back turned to the door and Balder moved very quietly, putting a finger to his lips to warn Chris. He stepped closer, stopped and barked in his best command voice: "Attention, Cadet!"

Jim started, gave and undignified yelp of surprise, lost his balance and nearly fell off his chair.

Chris raised his brows at his brother-in-law. "Enjoying yourself? Maybe a recommendation for the position of cadet master might be in order..."

"Please don't," Jim said fervently, after rearranging his limbs into a more dignified position. He glared at Balder. "That was uncalled for."

Balder shrugged. "I thought it was funny."

"It was," Chris said, "you should have seen your face, Jim."

"I'm glad I didn't."

"I spent some quality time with your young protegé here," Balder said, casting an amused glance at Jim.

"Oh dear," Chris sighed dramatically. "Now do you understand why he drove me crazy during his Academy years?"

"Hey," Jim protested. "You recruited me. I didn't exactly volunteer, did I?"

"So you're saying I brought this on myself?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Jim grinned at him. "Serves you right. You were insufferably smug. Having found George Kirk's son and convinced him to join Starfleet, turning a teenage misfit into an able officer, yadda, yadda."

Balder raised his eyebrows. "Chris. Are you sure he's really George's and not yours?"

"I can assure that I've never even looked at Winona that way, if that's what you're asking."

"No, I'm just saying he reminds me an awful lot of you at that age. When I first met you."

"Really?" Jim asked, sounding intrigued and somewhat impressed.

"I don't think it's a compliment, Jim," Chris cautioned. "I didn't exactly leave a good first impression."

Balder chuckled. "No, you certainly didn't. You were so infuriatingly overconfident. A right know-it-all, and always questioning my orders." He turned to Jim. "He was in one of my flight classes. A second year cadet, bold, reckless and cocky. Always improvising and intent on doing things his own way. Very annoying. And," he pointed a finger at Chris, "it really didn't help that you seduced my little brother."

Jim's eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

"Actually, it was the other way round," Chris said mildly.

Just then, McCoy, who seemed to possess a seventh sense for potentially embarrassing situations (or maybe it was just a doctor thing, maybe they received special training for that very purpose...), came around the corner. Chris caught his gaze, but if McCoy had heard the last part of their conversation, he was either utterly uninterested or hid it very well. "Visiting hours are over," he said. "You should rest."

"They keep me entertained," Chris complained. "And I am not tired."

"I'm sure we can find you something to read," Balder said, rising from his chair. "I have an engineering report regarding new and exciting waste management solutions, and I'll gladly share it with you. It put even Laurel to sleep while she was proofreading it, and that's something to say. But I think you should listen to your doctor, he has a refreshingly sensible air about him."


End file.
